


Facets

by Lynse



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Merlin is not Merriman, One-Shot, Post-Canon (TDiR)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:02:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynse/pseuds/Lynse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Stanton knew the other Old Ones had stepped out of Time, but that still didn’t prepare him for seeing someone who was distinctly not Merriman Lyon answering to the name Merlin and serving a very different King Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Facets

**Author's Note:**

> For Will, this is set after _Silver on the Tree_. For Merlin and the others, after _The Sword in the Stone: Part II_. Standard disclaimers apply. Also, my thanks to Ailavyn Siniyash for reading it over prior to posting.

It had been years since the last Rising of the Dark, years since the Old Ones had stepped out of Time, years since he’d been left alone as the Watchman of the Light.

But Will Stanton knew a mere decade would count for little as time stretched on.

And perhaps he was letting his human emotions get the better of him, but…. He _missed_ them.

Oh, he’d been back to Wales to visit Bran (and his aunt and uncle) many a time. He’d even arranged to meet up with Simon, Jane, and Barney once. But it wasn’t the same. They didn’t remember. The Drews hadn’t even mentioned ‘Great Uncle Merry’ when he’d seen them again.

Merriman Lyon had stepped out of their lives and out of their waking memories. To them, he had become little more than the name of someone they had once vaguely known, but the memory of his master haunted Will. He’d known him better than any of the other Old Ones, really, even better than Farmer Dawson and Old George and the others he’d known before he’d truly _known_ , and…. And he’d appreciated the guidance. Will might have all the knowledge of the book of Gramarye, but he did not always have the wisdom to know when to use it. He was, after all, the youngest of the Old Ones.

He was still learning.

The best way for him to learn now was through observation of others. In the present, in the past…. Usually, he knew where he wanted to go, but there were times when he let his senses guide him and he arrived at the right spot solely through his instincts as an Old One. 

His moments of observation would perhaps be easier if he could simply go back and observe other Old Ones at various moments in the past, but everything had shifted slightly when they’d left. Even Merriman’s most infamous place in history—to Will’s knowledge, at least—had become the stuff of legends rather than fact. Will hadn’t realized it before, though he did now well enough. Everything had been set in place even before the Old Ones had gone. Just as clarity and recollection of the Old Ones had gone from the memories of others in the present, so had they become clouded in the past, actions unknown and facts shrouded.

He, just like Barney Drew, had known the tales of King Arthur and Merlin, tales that had been twisted and skewed over the ages. Much of the truth had been lost to Time in some instances, and it was always just enough to obscure what could have really happened, how things could have really been. Merriman had allowed him to see the truth of it before, when the Dark first came Rising at the Battle of Badon. Will had never tried going back to a less momentous time—just to watch, to observe, to learn—until now.

To be honest, he hadn’t thought it would work. He’d thought he’d arrive at the wrong time or place or even that the Doors would refuse to open for him, refuse to let him pass through. But they had opened as readily as they had before and he’d walked through them with ease, out into a time of myth and legend.

Merriman and Lord Arthur were nowhere to be seen, though for that matter, no one was to be seen at all. But the Doors would not have let him pass through where he would have immediately been marked and remembered, for it was his place to Watch and to Watch alone. 

Will withdrew slightly into the shadows and cloaked himself appropriately. Merriman would undoubtedly still recognize the presence of another Old One, one out of sight but not out of mind, but Will need not reveal himself to anyone else—not even to the King Arthur, who was to become a Lord of the High Magic. Merriman would have the sense to do the same, acting no differently than normal once Will finally came across them.

Will picked his way through the forest, following one of the Old Ways that traced a path unseen by mortal eyes. The land was rich with magic that would be all but forgotten by his time. It spoke to his senses with a clarity he had not felt since the Rising, but it felt more Wild in nature than Light or Dark.

He didn’t remember the untamed magic feeling quite so strong last time he’d been here, but after these years without, any trace would spark so strongly against his senses. 

Will walked on with a calm confidence, enjoying the relative tranquility of the forest and the deep thrum of the Old Magic resonating at the very edge of his senses. Though sun dappled the path he followed, rich petrichor filled his nostrils and he knew rain had come recently. He had faith that he would find Merriman and Lord Arthur, even though the possibility that he wouldn’t had crossed his mind when he’d crossed the threshold of the great Doors. He’d merely come to look on at an old friend, nothing more, and now that he was here, he knew he would be granted that opportunity.

-|-

“I thought you said you knew the way, Merlin.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but because he was hiking ahead of Arthur, the other man couldn’t see—which was, really, just as well. “I don’t know why you want to go back there,” he said, pushing a branch out the way—and not looking back to see if Arthur ducked quickly enough to avoid getting whacked in the face as he let it go. “After all, it’s just a rock now.”

There had been no telltale exclamation of pain on Arthur’s part, no crack of wood connecting with flesh, so he hadn’t gotten lashed. “It’s more than just a rock,” came Arthur’s voice, the extra irritation in it meaning, as far as Merlin was concerned, that he’d only narrowly avoided the branch. “Besides, _you’re_ the one who insisted it was part of Camelot’s history.”

Merlin sighed. “It doesn’t have a sword in it any more,” he muttered.

Arthur overheard him. “But it did once,” he shot back, “and now that I’ve the time to do so, I’d like to examine it further.”

“But it’s just a rock.”

Arthur whacked him in the back of the head. “You don’t appreciate history.”

“Neither do you. Not usually, anyway. You didn’t even believe me until I showed you the sword in the stone in the first place,” Merlin retorted, rubbing the sore spot with one hand.

“Yes, because it sounded like you were making it all up on the spot,” Arthur said bluntly. “Honestly, Merlin. A sword in a stone? I’d have half a mind to think you’d put it there if that weren’t impossible.”

It wasn’t, since he had, but Arthur still didn’t know that.

“At any rate, I still haven’t figured out how you managed to hear a part of Bruta’s story that I never did. I don’t care if Gaius told you. I don’t know how I’d never heard it before if it’s true.”

“If it’s not true, then do you explain how a sword got into a stone in the middle of the forest? It was stuck fast. You know that. No one else could have pulled it out. You only could because you’re the true king of Camelot, just as the story dictated.” Arthur said nothing to that, so Merlin added, “And it’s a good sword. I’ve heard you say so yourself. The best you’ve ever had.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what _is_ the point?”

Arthur grunted. “How you _know_ all of this.”

“I told you. Gaius.”

“So Gaius never saw fit to tell me any of this in all the time I’ve been growing up?”

Merlin shrugged. “Knowing you, you’d have done something stupid. Tried to find it, perhaps, and pull it out before its time, and when you couldn’t, you wouldn’t have believed any of it, and—”

Arthur let out a sound of disgust. “I still have a hard time believing you didn’t just make all of it up. It all seemed very convenient.”

“If you know another reason why there would be a sword—”

“I’m not saying you _did_ ,” Arthur cut in. “I’m just saying it _sounds_ like you did.”

“Well, maybe even bedtime stories have some truth in them.”

Arthur snorted, and that was the end of that.

Fortunately, Merlin did have a vague idea of where he was going, and he was confident that they were on the right track. He’d only been there a handful of times before—well, just three times, actually, once to put the sword in the stone, once to show some of the others so they knew where to gather, and once to watch Arthur pull it out—but he knew where it was. At least, he knew where it was accurately enough to make sure no one just happened to come across it whenever he was with them.

And he had picked a rather isolated part of the forest when he’d first pushed the sword into stone in the first place.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t surprised rumours hadn’t sprung up, though. He had rather expected bandits, if no one else, to happen across the sword eventually. None would have been able to pull it free—he’d promised Kilgharrah as much—but he’d always worried that someone would make a good show of trying. If nothing else, the tale of a sword in a stone would have been rather entertaining.

“It’s just up ahead,” Merlin said finally, recognizing with certainty where he was. “But I still don’t know why you—” He stopped dead, suddenly overwhelmed by a bright, foreign… _presence_ , really, since he wasn’t sure if it was magic, though he couldn’t imagine that it was anything else. 

Arthur nearly crashed into him, and Merlin knew this because he was shoved rather forcefully from behind. The movement jarred him back to himself, and he recovered in time to comprehend Arthur’s next words. “We’ve been over that,” he said pointedly as he drew alongside Merlin. “Come on. I want to take a closer look at this stone.”

Merlin tried—and failed—to snag Arthur’s arm to stop him from going any farther. “Wait,” he called.

To his surprise, Arthur stopped. “For what?” he asked, the undertone of disdain clear in his voice. He thought Merlin was just causing trouble again, annoying him simply for the reason that he could.

But he wasn’t this time. “It’s not….” Merlin trailed off. Telling Arthur it wasn’t safe was pointless; few things were truly safe for Camelot’s king, and Arthur was not one to back away from danger—even if going ahead meant he might get himself killed. Merlin knew that from experience. Besides, he wasn’t sure it _was_ dangerous. He just knew it, well…. He just knew it was powerful, ancient, and—at least to him—inexplicable. “I’m not sure we’re…alone,” he said instead.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you managed to scare away any wildlife, Merlin, and I can take a few bandits if that’s what you’re worried about. I highly doubt there would be very many out here.”

It was a bit far from any villages for a normal raiding party and not near any suspected smugglers’ routes, but Merlin knew what he felt.

He just couldn’t explain it to Arthur.

“Of course,” Merlin agreed, though his voice sounded hollow even to his own ears.

Arthur muttered something under his breath that Merlin didn’t quite catch, but Merlin suspected it was an insult. He didn’t mind that, though. Arthur could insult him all he liked if Merlin turned out to be wrong.

Unfortunately, when Arthur thought him wrong and worrying over nothing, he was usually right.

Even if he wished he wasn’t.

-|-

Will had paused in the clearing first and foremost because here, the Wild Magic _sang_ , a rich, glorious melody full of chilling runs and breathless pauses and discordant notes resolving into haunting harmonies, all of which threatened to disappear the moment he turned his attention to anything else.

Unfortunately, that happened the precise moment a twig snapped and he became aware of voices, and he then remained in the clearing because he knew enough not to believe this a coincidence.

Particularly not when he could feel such a strong, magical presence that felt brighter, if no more tame, than the Wild Magic itself.

It was a bit bewildering, as he hadn’t expected that, but he supposed he shouldn’t have allowed himself to hope that he’d ever feel the familiar presence of another Old One again. Not until he joined the others, at least, and he knew better than to wish for that to happen any time soon.

The disconcerting thought that he wasn’t sure if he ever truly would join them was, as always, pushed firmly away. Merriman had said he would, a long time hence, and Will knew he would be walking this earth only for as long as necessary, however long that would come to be. 

He tried not to think about how many people he would have already left behind once that time came.

Better to focus on what he could see now, on the figures who had joined him in the clearing, the first striding confidently toward the large stone by Will’s side, the second frozen uncertainly in place at the edge of the trees.

No question which of them was more attuned to the workings of the Dark and the Light, then.

The first man, tall, blond, and regal in bearing, was examining the stone with a frown on his face. His fingers traced a portion of its surface. “You can hardly tell,” he murmured as he bent to examine the rock, “that there was ever anything in here at all. It would look nothing out of the ordinary if I didn’t know it wasn’t.”

The second, dark-haired man had not moved an inch, though his eyes darted wildly around, looking for something he could not see.

“It’s smooth,” the first man reported. “As if the sword itself cut into the stone when it was put in there.”

The second man visibly swallowed. “That is what the stories said.”

The first man snorted. “The blade wasn’t damaged at all.”

Fidgeting from the other one now, though he did not move from his place. “Wouldn’t be, would it, if magic were involved?”

The first man tore his gaze from the stone now. “Why are you still over there?” he asked. “Come on, Merlin. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re being foolish, even for you. Even if magic _were_ involved, there’s no trace of it now.”

“That’s what you think,” the one called Merlin muttered, but he moved to join the first man—Arthur, it must be—by the stone.

The stone which, if Will was not mistaken, had once housed Excalibur of the legends.

But that didn’t make _sense_. The man who must surely be King Arthur—he certainly wasn’t a Lord of the High Magic yet, if he was still ever to become one—was nothing like the man Will had met before, and there was nothing about his look which reminded Will of Bran. 

And Merlin…. _Merlin_ was not Merlin. He was _nothing_ like him, nothing like Merriman had been. He had not the look of the Old Ones, either. But of course he wouldn’t, for he wasn’t one. Will was the last. 

But Merriman had been the first, and this man wasn’t….

Arthur drew his sword, and Will knew by its look that it was Excalibur. It was nothing like Bran’s sword Eirias, but they had been forged for different purposes, crafted by different men. Will had no doubt there was strong magic in each, however. As he watched, Arthur proved this point as he plunged his sword cleanly into the stone, sliding it neatly into the crevice in which it had once rested. After a moment, he pulled it up again. He examined the blade, frowning slightly. “It’s fine.”

The man who called himself Merlin huffed. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Expertly ignoring Arthur’s glare, he continued blithely, “Wouldn’t the enchantments be upon the blade itself and not the stone? I’ve polished that, Arthur, but I’ve not needed to sharpen it yet.”

Merlin’s tone said something quite different from the rest of him. Tensed muscles, searching eyes…. He was expecting trouble. He knew something was not quite right. Even if he didn’t realize it, he sensed Will’s presence.

He was not an Old One, but he felt favoured by the Wild Magic, something Will would never have anticipated.

He could have convinced himself that this Merlin would one day be a Lord of the High Magic, but the Wild Magic was a subset belonging to the likes of the Greenwitch, and he’d not felt so much of it since he’d left the Lost Land.

But perhaps that’s what this was, now. A Lost Land. The true story had already been pulled out of Time, leaving this façade in its place.

“And you didn’t think to ever tell me that before?”

Merlin shrugged. “You never asked.” A pause. “Satisfied? There’s not anything else to see, and if we want to make it back before dark….”

 _Wait. Please._ Will didn’t think it would work, didn’t think he would be heard, but Merlin stilled immediately.

 _Show yourself._ The words weren’t spoken in the language of the Old Ones, as Will had half expected them to be. Indeed, they carried no trace of any accent in the Old Speech that betrayed the speaker as someone who had not been born with the words on their tongue. But though this Merlin and this Arthur were not the ones Will had known before, there was no denying who they were. There was certainly no denying the power in Merlin’s voice.

Will moved slowly, cautiously, back to the edge of the trees before he let the magic in which he’d wrapped himself fall away. Merlin’s eyes found his instantly, his expression guarded and wary. He knew that, however ordinary Will’s appearance, he was not ordinary in the slightest. Arthur, who had been making one comment or another to Merlin, broke off a second later as his eyes also settled on Will.

Will took a step closer, and King Arthur raised Excalibur. Merlin did not move, but neither did he blink, and Will knew enough not to underestimate him. “My name is Will Stanton,” he said quietly, his words twisting themselves into a language they understood, just as their words had been for him. “I…I wondered if I might speak with you.”

“How did you know where to find us?” Arthur asked.

“I did not know who I would find,” Will answered honestly. “I merely knew I would cross paths with someone, at some time.”

Arthur’s sword didn’t waver. “You claim to be lost, then? Have you need of direction?”

Will hesitated. “I’m not sure where I am,” he agreed slowly. _But I know it is where I am meant to be._

 _You’re not a Druid._ The assessment was frank, the question implicit.

_No. I am an Old One._

The words meant nothing to Merlin, that much was clear from his expression, but Will had known not to hope too much that they would. _You mustn’t say anything to Arthur. Magic is forbidden._

Will’s eyebrows shot up, betraying his surprise. This did not go unnoticed by Arthur, and Will found himself fumbling for an explanation as he had not for years now. “I…. I’m sorry, I’ve just realized…. You’re King Arthur." He dropped to one knee and bent his head as he should have upon first meeting the man. Will may not know this King Arthur, but if he was filling the place of the Lord Will had known, he deserved the same respect.

Even if it was merely all another echo.

The king finally sheathed his sword and gestured for Will to stand. “I am, and this is my manservant, Merlin."

This was wrong, this was _dreadfully_ wrong, but Will knew he was not meant to correct their path. It was a story that must play out on its own accord. 

Still, Arthur was supposed to know of the ongoing battle between the Light and the Dark. He had helped turn back the Dark at its first Rising. How was he to do that if he knew nothing of it?

“Where are you headed?” Arthur asked. “We can set you on the right path.”

But perhaps that was the truth of it: he knew nothing of it for there was nothing of it to know. The Dark had been cast out, the Light had drawn back as well…. Perhaps all that was left was traces of what had once been. Echoes ringing through the valleys, ancient paths worn across the hills—a hint of what had once been, nothing more. A legend of a lost land. A tale of a great kingdom.

The Dark was still here, but it was not the same force the Light had twice defeated in battle, with equal numbers of lost skirmishes on each side. Its beginnings were the same but it lacked the Riders to stir it up into the frenzy Will knew it could be. It was not tamer, it was no less evil, but it was…. It was different, as the pair before him was different.

“I am a wanderer,” Will said simply. “A Watchman, if you will. There is no right path when I’ve not a particular destination. The nearest village will do.”

“Come with us,” Merlin offered, ignoring the look Arthur shot him. He looked earnestly at Will. “You have some stories to tell, wouldn’t you, if you’ve travelled?”

Arthur marked Will’s hesitation. “You needn’t come if you’ve no wish to,” he said, though Will noticed he didn’t rescind Merlin’s offer, “but it’ll be safer if you do travel with us.”

A frown crossed Will’s face. “If these parts are dangerous, why do you not travel with others? You are the king.”

Arthur scowled. “I have faced far worse on my own. I’ll grant you that this part of the woods is not as rife with bandits as others, but you do not even carry a sword. You are defenceless and will be seen as an easy target if you continue alone.”

Will smiled. “Very well,” he said. “I will come.” They set off, and he spent much of the trek speaking in veiled terms and did not miss the fact that Arthur never let him slip behind them. The king had faced enough battles of his own to know that Will, had he wished it, could easily be concealing a knife. He did not believe his earlier comment about Will’s apparent defencelessness. 

As they walked, following the same path of the Old Way which had led Will to the clearing in the first place, Will learned about the two of them and the land of Camelot. He took note of the differences in their story and the one he had been privy to with Merriman. He felt the Wild Magic, saw how it flowed through the land itself. He still thought it richer than before, more abundant—surprisingly so for a land which restricted its use.

It was not the work of the Dark, these circumstances, but of men. And though Will could feel the remnants of the Dark fighting to extend the smothering reign, he could feel the presence of the Light at work as well. There would still be battles—there would always be battles—but the Dark was fighting to regain its place in the world rather than to overwhelm it.

And Will understood then what he had not understood when the Six had last gathered together.

The fight was in the hands of men now, all figures Darkened or Lightened through their own actions and life’s events rather than the forces of Dark or Light; this Will knew. But Merriman had spoken of work to be done elsewhere, and Will had never quite understood that. The Dark had fallen out of Time as the other Old Ones of the Light had stepped from it, as the Lord Arthur had sailed away on _Pridwen_. That was why there was to be no second coming of anyone, why men’s fate lay entirely in their own hands. 

But this, now, was not how it had once been, and Will now believed that to be more than simply because the others had passed out of Time. Merriman and the other Old Ones were continuing their work elsewhere just as he had said—in another realm, perhaps, or in another Lost Land, somewhere beyond Will’s grasp and out of reach, just beyond Time—but the stories of their work here were not lost to men. 

This was, Will thought, another facet of the same stone. He’d seen enough of the stones his father had set to know their different cuts and how they could shine under the light, to be able to appreciate how flaws could be cut away and the true beauty of the stone revealed. This was similar to those jewels, really. It was the same story, at its heart, but he had only been looking at one face before and this was a different one, one which encompassed a slightly different chain of events but was still undoubtedly, undeniably, the same.

The others…. They had passed on, but he remained here to polish this stone, to ensure its brilliance and clarity, to see that it was left in as good hands as possible. 

And from what he could tell here, of these people…. There would be no flaws in this retelling, once it played out to its end. He was frightfully curious now, though, to know what its end would be like and how it would get there. The version of the story he knew with the Lord Arthur and Merriman Lyon was nearly as different from the stories that were told in his present day as what was the truth here. 

And though Will had not intended such when he’d first come, he found himself soon enough in the heart of Camelot, standing in an achingly familiar castle populated with people whose names—and oftentimes even stories—did not match the faces he knew.

He knew Arthur did not quite trust him, but aside from a few cautionary looks, he did not forbid Merlin’s invitation. Will had been similarly cautioned about his curiosity many times, but he ignored those cautions now as he had so often as a child. Merlin was not Merriman, but Will had seen enough to deduce that the Wild Magic flowed through him as strongly as it had sung in the clearing.

It was more unpredictable than the magic of the Light and not quite the same as the High Magic Arthur—perhaps even this Arthur, now that Will had a better sense of him—would one day serve himself. But it seemed _right_ , now that he had had the time to consider it and to accept the fact that Merriman—even what should have been one last trace of him—was gone from this world.

And as saddened as Will was to know that he would not be seeing his master for a very long time yet, he was inexplicably gladdened to know that this young man with the big ears and wide smile was filling Merriman’s place, for Will knew he would fill it _well_ , and that was what mattered most.

-|-

“Gaius?” Merlin called. It was unusual for Gaius to be out at this time of night unless someone was ill and had called for him; he would have completed his evening rounds by now.

“Just behind the door, Merlin,” Gaius answered. His eyebrows rose as Will followed Merlin in, and Merlin couldn’t blame him. Usually if he brought anyone to Gaius, they were injured in some way or in need of help, and Merlin was fairly certain Will was neither.

Of course, Will had seemed to know without Merlin’s ever saying so that he had magic, and that was as much Merlin’s reason for bringing him here as anything.

It was more than that, though, and not just that Merlin had never heard of an Old One and was hoping that Gaius had. Will Stanton seemed…. Well, he could hardly be more different from the Will Merlin had known in Ealdor, but there were a few similarities between the two—one of which was that Merlin felt he could trust him.

Arthur didn’t, of course, but that meant nothing. If Arthur had a better sense of who he could trust and who he couldn’t, Merlin wouldn’t have had such trouble in the past simply keeping him alive.

Merlin tended not to immediately trust people who knew of his magic, but Will…. Will was different. Merlin could _feel_ it. He couldn’t really explain it, granted, but he just…. He knew, and that was enough.

The seemingly unremarkable stranger with the unsettling gaze and the accent Merlin couldn’t quite place was a man to be trusted.

“This is Will Stanton,” Merlin said. “Arthur and I met him in the forest. Will, Gaius. He’s the court physician.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Will said. His hand twitched, as if he meant to move it, but in the end he merely inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I realize this must be unusual,” he began slowly, “but I’ve come seeking information.”

Will did not elaborate—he never had, even though Merlin had asked many times on the long walk back—and Gaius gestured for them all to sit down before saying, “What sort of information?”

“Oh, I expect you know that already.”

“Magic.” Merlin said it very quietly, almost under his breath, but Will heard him—and so did Gaius, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

Will gave a minute shake of his head. “Not strictly magic,” he corrected. “More…about how things are here.”

“Information about Camelot.” Gaius did not sound happy, and Merlin knew he suspected the worst.

“To be remembered, not to be used against you. I am….” Will hesitated. “As I told Merlin, I am an Old One. I do not belong here, and I will not remain here, but I wish to observe, whilst I can.”

Gaius frowned. “An Old One?”

“One of the Light,” Will said in the tone of one who was elaborating, for all that that didn’t make things any clearer. “I have fought the Dark; you need not think me an agent of it.”

Merlin figured he might as well admit his ignorance in hopes of getting clearer answers. “I don’t understand.”

“I was once the Sign-Seeker, collecting the Signs of the Light to use in our battle with the Dark, but the Risings are behind me now and I am only the Watchman. I am the youngest of the Old Ones and the last, the only to remain. But the others….” Will stopped, breaking off the story before he’d had a chance to properly start into it and leaving Merlin with more questions than before. “The oldest of us was a man of many names, and I knew him as Merriman Lyon. But he is gone now, and I…miss him.”

“That does not explain why you are here with us,” Gaius said gently. “I have been here many years, and I never knew anyone by that name.”

“Merriman Lyon,” Will repeated, his gaze sliding to Merlin. “Merry Lyon, Merlion….”

“Me?” Merlin squeaked, the progression not lost on him. He coughed a bit, embarrassed that his voice had betrayed him so, and said, “But that doesn’t make any sense! I’m not…whoever you think I am.”

“No,” Will agreed, “but you have something of the Light inside of you, and your fight is the same. I don’t know what guise the last vestiges of the Dark will take, but you will fight it—like I did, like Merriman before you.”

Gaius was saying something now, something about Will being from farther away than he’d initially let on, but Merlin was remembering something Kilgharrah had told him a long time ago now about Morgana: _She is the darkness to your light_.

The Great Dragon always had known more about everything than he’d ever said to Merlin.

“You know what we’re facing in the future,” Merlin said abruptly, “don’t you?”

“I know how the story played out with a very different set of characters,” Will said quietly, “but I expect it will be the same at its heart, yes. And you will triumph over the Dark as the Light did before, the first time this story was told.”

The very idea that things could have been different—that there was another Merlin, another Arthur, another Gwen, another _everyone_ —was more unsettling than Will’s serious gaze. If it weren’t for his eyes, Merlin would guess that they were about the same age, with the man across from him a few years his junior. But Will…. Will was different. He was an Old One, one of the Light, and even if Merlin still wasn’t quite sure what all that meant, he knew that Will meant them no harm. 

If Merlin understood correctly, he’d been looking for the other Merlin—Merriman—and hadn’t quite expected to find Merlin in his place. Then, he’d wanted to know about them—about _all_ of them—so that he could be satisfied that his speculations were correct, that the story _would_ be a variation of the same one he knew.

He looked happier than he had at first, at least. Not quite so solemn, not quite so achingly sad. Whatever he’d heard, whatever he’d seen, whatever he’d felt…. It had been enough to satisfy him.

“But…but how does the story end?” Merlin asked. “Besides Light defeating Dark. What about Camelot? What about Albion? What about Arthur? And Mordred and Morgana and—”

“Your story will be remembered,” Will said quietly, “even though mine will not be once I am gone.”

It wasn’t an answer; it was a deflection. Merlin had used the tactic often enough himself to recognize it. 

Of course, considering how well things went when he knew the future, when he knew what was coming, it was perhaps better that Will refused to tell him.

“Tell us your story, then,” Merlin requested, “so we can remember it, too.” If nothing else, it would help him make sense of all of this. 

And it might help him make sense of what was to come.

Will was silent for such a long time that Merlin was certain he would refuse. When at last he did agree with a soft-spoken, “All right,” he got to his feet and stretched out one hand towards them, straight armed and fingers spread, and spoke a phrase.

Merlin wouldn’t have been able to say what it was, nor identify the language. But it vibrated within his very being, and he caught a snatch of song—a sweet, melancholy melody, bell-like and entrancing—which drifted from his mind as water slipped through his fingers the moment it had stopped.

At first, nothing seemed to have changed, but by the time Will had taken his seat again, Merlin realized that something _had_ changed. It was quiet. _Eerily_ quiet, as if the world around them had stilled. Will did not explain what he had done, though Merlin suspected he knew the truth of it as the telling began.

Will’s voice was quiet, but it wasn’t a strain to hear him, and the story seemed to flow easily from his lips—not as if he’d told it many times, nor in the captivating-but-rehearsed way of bards, but as if there was simply only one way to tell it properly and he knew which way that was. Merlin’s attention didn’t waver—which was saying something, given how effortlessly he could give the appearance of listening while thinking of something else entirely when Arthur droned on about his list of chores which were, likely as not, the same as usual—and he quelled his questions. Will did not answer them all in the end, but Merlin had realized that he wouldn’t be told any more even if he did ask. Not in this, anyway.

Merlin almost didn’t realize the story was over until the lull stretched on for longer than any had before. He hadn’t quite shaken off the last chill that had run down his spine—one which was all too reminiscent of the Dorocha for his liking—and he was left with a curious yearning he couldn’t quite explain until he realized that Will’s story wasn’t finished itself.

It was still being written now, for all that that particular chapter had been completed.

Once Time thawed and began to flow again, Will stood to leave, and Merlin knew not to stop him. “Come back,” he offered, “when this story has been written.” Will’s details about the other time he’d seen pieces of it play out had been vague at best, and Merlin wasn’t sure how much he had omitted altogether, but he thought…. They could be friends, given the chance.

Will gave him a small, wistful smile. “It already has been.” And though Merlin saw no movement on Will’s part—or at least none which he could later recall—the light bent around him and Merlin blinked to clear away the sudden blurriness of his vision, but already Will was gone, and Merlin was alone with Gaius. 

All that marked the Old One’s passing was a faint, elusive melody singing at the edge of Merlin’s consciousness, and soon that too faded away in the way of dreams.

-|-

Arthur never mentioned the traveller who had returned with them, never asked what had become of him, and Merlin never told him.

If it weren’t for the look Arthur occasionally got in his eye, Merlin would think he had forgotten—or, more accurately, been made to forget. 

They hadn’t crossed paths with many people, admittedly, and Merlin wasn’t truly surprised no one seemed to remember the rather unremarkable stranger who had been with him last night. But when Merlin mentioned something to Gaius the next morning, he received a very disconcerted look and a pointed, if somewhat confused, “I’d thought you’d learned your lesson about getting into the cider.”

Merlin had, of course, long ago, and avoided that in favour of mead even with Gwaine’s goading, but even when he’d tried pressing the point, Gaius didn’t recall Will at all. Merlin wasn’t sure what magic it was which had let the entire incident slip from the physician’s mind, but it was powerful enough that Gaius always managed to change the subject and not even recall what Merlin had asked.

And Merlin, who remembered what Will had said, wasn’t even sure if it was his doing or something far more indirect, a remnant of magic of the Light’s which could still affect mortal minds where the last of the Old Ones was concerned.

He supposed it was easier to have everyone forget than to explain a disappearance in a land which was unkind to magic, though he’d heard enough to suspect that there was far more to it than that.

Still, Merlin remembered it all, and he was sure Arthur suspected at least a little, and that told Merlin something Will had not said so plainly: their story would not end for a long while yet.


End file.
